How Was I Supposed To Know It Was a Lesbian Bar!
by Soquilii
Summary: Back story based on The Stork Job


BASED ON THE STORK JOB

Rated M

Saturday night and the week's work done, Eliot Spencer flung his keys into the dish on his dresser and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Not bad for a middle-aged dude. No receding hairline - thanks to good genes he'd never have to worry about that - no major lines on his face - well, there were a few scars but he'd learned over the years that such small flaws were a magnet for women, not a turnoff. A few crow's feet graced the corners of his eyes - his scruffy two-day beard and soul patch hid any other flaws. Around the mouth and - he tilted his chin up for a peek - under the neck was where age showed first. Yep, he looked pretty good. Energy level was high. He felt randy. Time to get spruced up.

He took a long, tepid shower; too hot and he'd want a nap; too cold and it would kill the tingle in his loins. He brushed his teeth thoroughly, toweled his wet hair and turned on the blow dryer. Straight and fragrant, that's how they liked it. He took considerable time choosing his cologne. He had _Boss, Lauren, Axe and Armani_. Also _Old Spice_ , but that wouldn't do - too many women had told him it reminded them of their fathers. They didn't seem to like _Axe_ too well, either. He decided on _Boss_ and applied it liberally.

Where to go determined his wardrobe. Well, hell, he was in a red-t-shirt-and-black-leather-jacket mood; the hell with dress codes. He could cruise until a bar called his name. Just so they had a dance floor. He pulled on his boots, took a last look in the mirror, grabbed his keys and walked out the door.

The neon glow of bright city lights reflected in Eliot's eyes as he cruised the bar district of downtown Portland. He was just about to turn around and head back, thinking he'd missed something promising when he saw it. There, at the corner of Burnside and Broadway - _The Corner Pocket_. Sounded good. He steered his orange Dodge Challenger into the parking lot. Country music pounded his chest even out here. Perfect.

He paid his cover, winking at the girl behind the counter. She gave him her best front-door smile but immediately did a double-take. He figured he made a good first impression. He ambled in slowly, drinking in the sights and sounds and general atmosphere - or trying to. It was almost too dark to see. Purple lights illuminated the dance floor in a soft haze. Couples at the tables were barely visible. Over the sound of the music came the knocks and thocks of a pool table room to the left. _Hence the name_ , he thought. _Cute. Maybe I'll have a game after a few drinks and a dance or two._

First things first; he needed a drink.

Tossing back his long straight hair, he slid onto a barstool and ordered a Jack Daniels on the rocks. The busy bartender, a tall honey blonde with big hair, barely noticed him. He slid a dollar in the tip jar, picked up his glass and sipped his drink just to get in the groove. He ordered another, and a third. The aches and pains of the previous week, part and parcel of being a hitter for the Leverage team, faded into nothingness; every muscle was relaxed; he felt positively euphoric. It wasn't long before a petite brunette took the barstool beside him. She didn't seem attached to anyone. He waited until she ordered her drink and struck up a conversation.

'Hey, hi-ya-doin'?' he said with a grin reminiscent of the inimitable Clark Gable, eyes soft and eyebrow raised. His teeth glowed white in the almost black light atmosphere.

'Hello,' she said, glancing at him. She looked at him a second time and before he could get a word out she excused herself and took her drink with her.

 _Okay, maybe she doesn't like Boss._

He picked up his drink and left the bar, thinking he might have better luck asking someone at one of the tables to dance. Squinting through the flashing dance floor lights and clouds of decidedly illegal cigarette smoke..marijuana-scented cigarette smoke, at that…he spotted his favorite, a tall, flaming redhead sitting alone in a corner. He waited until the end of the two-step to see if anyone rejoined her at the table. Nada. Well, standing here wouldn't get him anywhere. He ambled over, unaware that behind him, the little brunette was pointing him out to several of her friends, who were gasping and gossiping among themselves: what in hell was he doing here?

Eliot bent toward the redhead in a courtly fashion. 'Excuse me. May I join you?'

She gave him a perfunctory glance and nodded. He took a seat beside her.

'Nice place. Come here often?' _Jeez what a line, can't I think of anything original tonight?_

'I'm here nearly every weekend.'

She had a curiously deep voice.

'So what do you do?' he asked with a smile.

'I'm a vet.'

'A veterinarian? No kidding? Hey, I have a cross-bred wolf/husky and it just so happens, he's due for his shots.'

'Sorry, no, I work with farm animals. Horses, cattle, pigs…'

'No dogs or cats, then, huh.'

'No dogs or cats. Sorry.' She glanced at him again. 'I've never seen you in here before. Are you from Portland?'

'I'm just here for a visit. I own a ranch in Texas.'

'You're from Tex - ? Excuse, me, but what cologne is that you're wearing?'

'You like it? _Boss Bottled Unlimited_. It's never failed me yet.'

'Yeah? Well, sorry to disappoint you, but rethink it, girlfriend.'

Eliot had just finished his third drink, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. 'Say what?'

'I said _rethink_ it, girlfriend, it's a little too butch, even for in here. You want some action, try _Donna Amore.'_

'Doesn't sound like men's cologne.'

'It isn't. Why would you wear men's cologne?'

'Cause I'm a man. Want me to prove it to you?'

Feeling his liquor _and_ his oats, Eliot grinned, leaned forward suddenly and took her lips hungrily, his hand at the back of her head.

She was helpless for a second but broke free of his embrace. She stood up, almost knocking the table over.

 _'Dude!_ Fuck that shit! _Damn!_ ' She wiped her mouth on a cocktail napkin. 'Hey, I hate to be the one to tell you, but do you have the slightest fucking clue where you are?!'

'I'm, uh…in a bar, and, uh, I thought we had somethin' goin', y'know…'

'Something's _going_ all right, and it's _you. Damn!_ You had _me_ going with all that hair. I was thinking you were the butchiest dame I'd ever run across, but -'

The truth was slowly dawning on Eliot. He glanced around. She was right, he wasn't supposed to be here. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark, he could make out nothing but women: some feminine, some average and some so big and butch he wouldn't care to meet them in a dark alley.

 _'Aw, jeez…'_

Suddenly, Eliot felt a hand like iron clamped on his shoulder. 'Is she bothering you, miss?'

 _Christ, I've woken the cracken…the bouncer..the big, black, lesbian bouncer. Fuck my life._

'I'd prefer it if he leaves, yes,' said the redhead. 'I'm sure we all would.'

 _'He?'_

'Yes, he be _a poor little lamb who has lost his way, Baa, Baa, Baa_.'

'Come with me, sir.' The lady bouncer was twice his size. She picked him up effortlessly by his collar and began escorting him out. Everyone from the tables to the bar to the dance floor watched him being practically hauled out; some were laughing and some were cat-calling and whistling. It pissed him off. Near the door he angrily shrugged the giant of a woman off.

 _'Hands off!_ I can walk on my own two feet, thanks! How was I to know it was a lesbian bar?!'

'You gettin' smart with me, fool?'

'I'll make you _think_ smart, lady. Put your hands on me again, I'll break your frickin' clavicle!'

The bouncer moved faster than he'd ever seen a person that big move, much less a woman. He landed flat on his back from the force of her blow. Drunk or not, he was on his feet like lightning, too mad to care if it was a woman or not. His lip was split; blood ran down his chin; he intended to spill some of hers to match it.

Behind them, the music had stopped and the bartender had phone in hand in case they had to call the cops. However, a second female bouncer appeared out of the woodwork and teamed up with the first. Between them, they soon had their unwanted, straight male customer laid out on the floor. Each got a massive hand under his armpits and tumbled him out the door onto the sidewalk, skinning his cheek in the process. Then they locked the doors.

'It's all right, folks, go back to partying. We'll keep an eye on him until he leaves.' They watched Eliot as the music started back up and couples resumed dancing and making out in dark corners.

Outside, Eliot rolled onto his back, waiting for the pain to subside before he got to his feet. His night was shot; the only thing he needed to do at this point was go back home. He'd have Sunday to recuperate before Monday. Nate had a job lined up, something about a kid.

He slowly got to his feet and staggered toward his car. The bouncers watched him drive away before they unlocked the door.

A frozen bag of peas would do to take the swelling down until he could get his hands on an ice pack. For now he was content with just stripping and lying naked on his bed, letting the bag of peas sweat against his pillowcase. Three acetaminophen barely touched his headache; maybe he'd feel better in the morning. He slept his Sunday away. That night, he didn't feel like cooking; he ordered in. He shouldn't have ordered pizza, either; he had to cut the slices to fit in his swollen mouth. _Fuck my life!_

The team gathered around the conference table the next day. Eliot was holding an ice pack to his face, unnoticed by anyone.

The briefing began.

'So, Irina let Luka stay with the Martins for a week, that's when this was taken,' Nate began, indicating the picture of a sad-faced child on the big screen.

'What happened to the boy afterwards?' asked Sophie.

'Don't know,' said Nate. 'A car came along, picked him up, took him away.'

Eliot's face was somewhat numbed; he took the ice pack down. 'Whoa,' he said attempting to show at least _some_ interest in the current job, 'are we seriously considering this, huh? Swipin' a kid?'

'Yeah,' said Nate, then he did a double take when he saw Eliot's face.

 _I've had enough of those kind of looks to last me quite a while, includin' yours, Nate. Frickin' double-takes and rude stares; that's rude fucking behavior, you know it? So screw it!_

'Wha…what happened to you?!' asked Nate with surprised concern.

Eliot spit out the only explanation he could think of. 'W'll - how was _I_ supposed to know it was a lesbian bar?!'

The End


End file.
